Stick in the Mud
by Brutal-Bugaboo
Summary: A/E one-shot. Arthur's going to prove once and for all to Eames that he is not a stick in the mud! It ends up with Arthur having his 'stick' shoved into the 'mud' literally. Outdoor drunken I-hate-you rain/mud sex. Plotless.


Warnings; very graphic sex, slight Dom/sub, rimming, outdoor sex, unprotected sex, etc etc etc

This story... I wrote 7 hours in one go on this one. I AM DEAD.  
IT IS HALF PAST TEN IN THE NIGHT NOW AND I JUST...  
omfg just read it and for the love of god review because this story killed me and I need some loving.

* * *

Another job well done and the team decided to celebrate with having a couple of drinks at a local pub before they'd leave first thing in the morning.

A couple of drinks soon turned into a smash-faced amount of whiskey and rum, and the pub somehow got swapped with an obnoxious loud club - grinding bodies and epileptic-triggering-neon lights included -.

All of the team by now found themselves drunkenly swaying their bodies in the middle of the dance-floor… Well, all but one.

Arthur watched, or more so glared at, the rest of his team seemingly enjoying themselves in a drunken and sweaty haze in the overcrowded club. A mixture of green, blue and red lights flickered on the glossy bodies grinding up against another's, illuminating them temporarily before the neons would travel across the dark club, lighting up other various sets of dancing figures.

Even in the dark, through the fog of cigarette-smoke, Arthur's eyes never wavered from the sight which had caught his disapproved attention.

The object of all his annoyance and frustration was busy laughing his cheeky grin, his large hands loosely resting themselves on a set of curvy, swaying hips. Arthur did not at all feel jealous of the unknown girl's ass being grinded lewdly by Eames' pelvis.

The point-man tried to remember why he ever had agreed to joining the team in the horrendous idea of fun they seemed to have. Perhaps it had been Dom's persistence, but Arthur knew in the back of his head that it had been Eames comment that followed right after Dom had asked Arthur to go out with them.

"Stick-in-the-mud would not ever accompany us to some fun, Dom." The name Eames had used to describe him at that moment - and on various times in the past - had made Arthur's rage and pride flare. Even more so the way Eames had directed the claim to Dom and had disregarded Arthur's presence had agitated the latter to a point where his childish stubbornness kicked into overdrive.

"I'll come." Arthur had haughtily spoken, raising from his seat and hooking the strap from his messenger-bag over his shoulder. His brown eyes had only looked at Dom's slightly surprised expression, but never so much as wavered to Eames who stood besides them. He had then left the warehouse, having felt Eames' gaze burning in his back before closing the door behind him.

Arthur regretted everything now. He was hot, far too warm in the crowded club for being dressed in one of his immaculate, tailored suits. The tie had been lost somewhere throughout the night and he had rolled up his sleeves to under his elbows. The suit-jacket had been swung over a chair, but of course the piece of expensive garment had been snatched away the moment Arthur had removed his eyes from it… Not that it mattered, he himself, as everyone else of the team were now a quarter million Dollars richer. Job well done, indeed.

Arthur felt sweaty all over, his clothes sticking to his lean body and even his gelled-back hair was coming a bit undone. A few stray hairs curled in the back of his neck. The smoke prickled his eyes, annoying him even more, and if it hadn't been for Eames striding a path through the mass of grinding bodies towards him, he would've left right that second.

Arthur's face remained perfectly blank as Eames closed the distance before finally coming to a halt far too close into Arthur's personal space. The point-man refused to budge though and he didn't even lean back away from the slightly taller man, not that he had a choice though, what with his back already pressing against the wall behind him.

Eames carelessly planted a hand against he wall behind Arthur, on the right side of his face and leaned a bit closer, eyes drooping to his lips for only a second before he grinned his crooked teeth. Arthur barely managed to not grimace at the annoying Brit in front of him.

"Being a bore, are we?" The forger shouted over the loud, obnoxious music with a bass-line that continuously skipped from too fast to too slow.

Arthur just frowned at him a bit before letting his eyes skip over the man's shoulder, trying to dismiss his presence and end the conversation. He could smell the alcohol on the Eames' breath, but he didn't at all look as drunk as he should be with the various whiskeys that Arthur had seen him chug throughout the night.

"Here, ought to loosen ya up a bit." The Brit spoke. Arthur looked down at the small glass of clear liquid that Eames held up under his nose.

"What is it?" He shouted, not hiding the annoyance from his voice.

"Be adventurous for a change will ya?" Arthur sparked at that. Normally Eames' endless teasing and tug-of-warring would just cause the younger male to scoff, turn away and just not bother with it all. He'd just walk from it, walk from confrontation because it wasn't worth his effort, really.

But tonight, Arthur felt more agitated, more 'willing' to fight back. More so prove the Brit and his naïve assumptions wrong with deeds rather than condescending remarks. And though the point-man had no clue as to why tonight was different from those various other moments that had taken place in all those years knowing each other, he still went with his gut.

The slightly-flustered man grabbed the drink from the forger's hand, spilling some in the action, and placed the small glass against his lips. The look on Eames' face made it so much more worth it and Arthur made sure to glare for a split second at the other's surprised gawk before downing the drink in one go.

Later, the man would blame the agonizingly hot weather for his childish behavior more than he'd blame Eames bump-and-grind action with the girl on the dance floor earlier that night. Because that 'show' Eames so obviously had put up for him did not at all affect Arthur.

Arthur reached the empty drink back to Eames who - after the initial surprise had faded - grinned lewdly at him before taking the glass back.

Eames leaned in close once again, making the point-man stiffen from head to toe. Not at all did Arthur's breath stutter when the forger's voice rumbled against ear, his smirk only noticeable because he had the shameless cockiness of rubbing his lips over the shell of Arthur's ear.

"Wait here, Pet." Before Arthur could scowl at the demand or throw back a firm 'no', Eames had pushed himself from the wall and had turned around, disappearing back into the sea of people waving around to the beat.

Arthur sensed himself on the metaphorical crossroads. He was uncertain whether to cut off this childish game of proving his manliness - which really was a more vain word for not being the all-work-no-play persona people saw him as - or just go with it. Go with it and wipe that filthy smirk right off the Brit's face.

Arthur chose the latter. Against all good judgment and rationalization he went with the gut and competitive instinct. He'd prove Eames wrong once and for all so he'd never have to worry about it again. So he'd never have to cringe at one of the man's comments on his implacable suits and constipated-facial-expressions. So he'd never have to hear again how the stick up his ass was to deep for him even to let a smile slide on his face once in a while.

Eames returned in no time, carrying a ridiculous amount of small glasses in his hands and between long fingers. Arthur frowned at the Brit's skills and wondered what exactly he had done beside the line to be able to cling seven- no, nine glasses of tequila in only one and a half hand.

Then again, Eames was a forger and a thief, Arthur knew that the man had more talents than he allowed others to witness.

Arthur's face remained solely blank as Eames reached out a wobbly hand, balancing various cups and assumingly knowing that the point-man would reach for them as he saw them wobble dangerously. Of course Arthur did just that, grabbing two shots, Eames was never wrong.

The next couple of minutes they downed the tequila shots. Eames' eyes never roamed from their intense gaze on the point-man's flushed face. Arthur on the other hand was too focused on drinking the alcoholic drinks without grimacing, he barely noticed how Eames managed to shove another three into his hands.

Six drinks later and he already felt the alcohol affecting him, needless to say Arthur never drank because he was too professional for that. Not too boring, mind you.

"Arthur, I am impressed." Eames chuckled as he leaned in and spoke words that Arthur himself had once thrown at Eames in a most condescending tone. The point-man just shrugged uncharacteristically and leaned a bit more against the wall behind him, hoping it'd eventually suck him in and get him away from the abomination that was the forger.

"Come dance, yeah?" The taller man smiled mischievously, putting aside the empty glasses on a nearby bar-stool before he grabbed Arthur's wrist in his warm hand. He tried to drag him away from the comfortable - and stabile - wall but Arthur pulled, tugging his hand free with suspicious ease because Eames' grasp had been loose and downright sloppy.

The otherwise immaculately self-controlled point-man stumbled and Eames slid a hand around his waist.

"Easy there, Pet." The Brit chuckled as he saw his chance to touch Arthur and took it willingly.

"Don't you 'Pet' me, Eames." Arthur huffed in return, his familiar glare in place whilst he moved swiftly out of the forger's grasp.

It took another five shots of tequila and a firm grip on the younger man's wrist before Eames finally managed to drag him onto the dance floor.

* * *

Arthur should've known. He should've known to not have allowed Eames to drag his intoxicated body further into the club. Because, quite frankly, the point-man was not at all enjoying being trapped in a sea of bodies, making his back collide with Eames' chest on every low beat as they swayed to the music.

"Hmmm, Arthur." The forger purred his name into his ear whilst shamelessly placing his hands on Arthur's hips in an even more intimate way than it had been with the girl earlier that night.

The younger man scoffed at the way his name sounded when being violated by Eames' accent, breathing the R's out with soft and cunning ease. It made the shiver that had coiled on the base of Arthur's spine, crawl up to his neck.

"I am not enjoying this." He shouted over the music, glancing over his shoulder at the grinning man behind him. But Eames' just mouthed a 'what', removing a hand from Arthur's hip to roll a finger next to his own ear in a motion that shared he could not hear the younger man over the loud music.

Arthur knew damn well that was a lie.

Just as Eames knew damn well Arthur would've kicked his shins and darted outside if he really had 'not been enjoying this'.

But Arthur was drunk, because Eames had decided to force-feed him even more alcoholic beverages - every new one a bit more heavy than the last one - up to the point where Arthur didn't trust his own legs to carry him if he were to be removed from Eames' steadying chest.

When the beat slowed down to a lazy, lopsided drop, Arthur's heart skipped a beat because he could feel Eames' demeanor change with it. The man's hands slowly slid from his hips to his flat tummy and Arthur froze.

"Let go, Darling." Eames' voice rumbled in his ear, hot breath fanning over Arthur's cheek and though the latter was a tad too drunk and simultaneously freaked out by Eames' hands on his lower tummy, he still caught the meaning of those words.

The forger's hips swayed in time with the sensually slow pace of the beat and Arthur's drunken state hit him twice as hard when he felt a very obvious hardness poking his ass where their hips met.

"Eames-" He hoarsed whilst looking over his shoulder again, his voice not even coming close to overpowering the low bass around them.

"Hm?" Eames distractedly hummed into the other's ear as he remained moving his body against the latter's in a far too mischievous manner.

Arthur never managed to tell Eames to stop because his breath only stuttered weakly as Eames grabbed a firm hold on his hips, pulling his ass lewdly against his groin. The point-man knew he should break them apart. He knew that he should stop now that he still had some sense left in the drunken haze clouding his brain. But he was smashed, he was proving a point and more importantly he was only just a man. Arthur was a man who focused so much on his work that he disregarded any sexual activities in his life. His professionalism going as far as having the point-man even forget about the existence of pornography and masturbation.

And truly, Eames had been the only thing grinding his gears all the years of knowing one another. Eames had been the one to get under Arthur's skin, get him flustered and arrive home in such a frustrated position that he had taken more cold showers than he could count on dozens of hands.

And though Arthur despised the cunning Brit because said Englishman was everything but Arthur, Eames still drew him near like a moth to a flame.

It was only now, drunk and careless and very much turned on, that Arthur finally chose to give in. After years of denying, stubbornness and bickering with the man which had felt more like foreplay than actual discussions, Arthur's walls crumbled apart.

"Let's get out of here." Arthur murmured, his voice barely reaching over the bass-lingered music.

"Sorry, what was that?" Eames asked, leaning a bit more forward and in the process flattening his whole body against Arthur's.

"I said, let's get out of here, Mr. Eames." A pause followed and the point-man could've sworn he had felt Eames' fingers twitch where they rested on his hips.

"Oh, it'd be my pleasure, Arthur." His smirk seemed to thicken his voice and before Arthur could scowl at Eames for his ability to make his name sound like the dirtiest thing on the planet, the forger was already busy pulling him harshly through the dense mass of people towards the exit.

* * *

"Arthur, no. I'm not going out there. It's absolutely pouring!" Eames voice heightened an octave at mock disbelieve as Arthur had requested for them to get out of the car and have a run on the abandoned track they'd come across.

"So you'll DUI but you won't go out in the rain?" The point-man cocked an eyebrow at Eames who sat beside him, hands still firmly planted on the steering wheel.

"No, it'll ruin my suit, Darling." The younger male snickered at that without much humor in his voice as he slowly eyed Eames' assemble up and down.

"You and I both know your suit isn't worth a quarter of mine and yet I'm still willing to go out there and have 'fun'… as you call it." Arthur was highly amused at Eames' lack of adventurousness when it came to getting out of the car in the middle of the night and have his suit - which truly was an abomination and a sad excuse of one - soaked with the heavy downpour outside. He hadn't expected that at all, then again Eames could be just messing around… It sometimes was hard to read the forger, which was one of the things that made him the best of his kind.

"I just don't see what ought to be so fun about running tracks in the rain in the middle of the bloody night, is all." Eames downright pouted as he spoke, eyes scanning the dark field in front of them.

Arthur was still drunk, very much so and he uncharacteristically snorted at that before yanking the door handle.

"Wasn't planning on running tracks, Mr. Eames." Arthur stiffly replied, getting out of the car. The rain just barely deafened Eames' 'wait what?' before the point-man slammed the door shut behind him and started to walk towards the abandoned track.

With a smug smile playing around his lips Arthur quickened his pace, certain that Eames' curiosity and puppy-love crush on him would make him follow the younger man no matter what.

Sure enough, after only a dozen of seconds he heard the engine of Eames' car being shut off, the headlights dimmed and as the door opened Eames' voice broke through the sound of rain and wind.

"God damn it, Arthur!" Arthur was already soaked, his clothes heavy on his lean frame, but the hot weather made the downpour lukewarm and it didn't chill him in the least… Then again, that could be the alcohol talking.

"Wait!" Eames called after him, his hurried footsteps splashing in the mud as they crossed the grass field to the running tracks.

"Arthur, what in the bloody hell-" Eames planted a heavy hand on Arthur's shoulder when he had caught up with the man, stopping him in his tracks. Arthur turned around to face Eames and interrupted him with a cold glare.

"I am not a bore." He spoke, proud of how his words did not at all slur though his body did wobble a bit at so suddenly cutting his pace. Eames frowned.

"What? I- Arthur, if this is about me calling you a bore… Truly you don't have to run around in the damn rain and get yourself sick to prove a point here." Arthur was a bit taken aback by Eames seeming to be worried over his health. Then again, the younger man did realize they both were rather drunk and overreaction always seemed to be a part of that. Alcohol either dulled the senses or just intensified everything. It was a matter of how much and how your day had been.

"I'm not trying to prove anything." Arthur grumbled, wiping rain from his brow as he shook Eames' hand off his shoulder.

"Oh really? I don't recall Darling Arthur being fond of having his precious expensive suits ruined by the rain… Let alone on a drunken spree at three in the morning in the middle of an abandoned field." Eames' grin was wide and completely allowed his arrogance to slip back into place, making Arthur stagger at the insult.

"Fuck off." He growled, shoving against the forger's shoulder, though the latter didn't even budge at the poor attempt. It only reminded Arthur of how Eames was a dense wall of muscled, animalistic and cunning temptation and with a groan the point-man dragged his eyes away from the chest that heaved with each breath underneath the soaked shirt. Arthur also absolutely ignored the perked nipples very obvious underneath the thin fabric.

"You always call me a stick-in-the-mud, right?" Arthur began, voice shouting over the rain which seemed to only fall more heavily with each passing second, whilst he pulled himself out of Eames' grasp.

Eames frowned softly, drops of water traveling their way through the set of forehead wrinkles.

"Arthur, what are you-" The forger's voice got stuck in his throat as he watched Arthur start to unbutton his dress shirt after he had walked a few feet away from his colleague.

The younger man didn't answer Eames' cut-short question and instead continued to pull himself free from his soaked shirt, revealing his lean torso. The rain was a bit cold as it poured on Arthur's feverish skin but the man was too drunk - too determined - to care.

The point-man had made up his mind. And though he had a lot too much to drink and his libido had been much too often tested by Eames' natural charm and charisma to withstand, Arthur still had his goal clear in view. His mind was set and nothing could pull him from it.

So the younger man's eyes focused on the stiff figure of Eames standing only a few feet away from him. His smile had vanished and though it was dark and raining, Arthur could still see the set jaw line trembling as the forger grinded his teeth. His hands were folded into fists, resting neatly at his sides, biceps and shoulders bulging as they tensed up at the sight of a soaked Arthur undressing.

Arthur dropped his shirt on the grass, glancing one more time at Eames before starting to unbutton his trousers.

The point-man thought he could hear Eames growl his name in a warning as he started to slowly bend forward, pushing the fabric of his dress-pants down over his thighs, but he wasn't sure.

Not in a hundred years would Arthur have guessed he'd ever come to undressing himself in the middle of the night, outside underneath the starry sky pouring rain, with the forger - the source of Arthur's continuous annoyance and frustration - watching him.

But here he was, having toed off his leather shoes, gotten rid of his socks, trousers and shirt… Only dressed in black boxer-briefs, of which the fabric now clung wetly to his skin, Arthur straitened his back and barely managed to not glare at Eames.

The rain had settled only a slightly bit but the reduce of noise enabled Arthur to catch Eames' calmly spoken words as the forger walked towards him in a slow pace.

"You're gonna catch a cold." He said again, as if that was the only excuse he could come up with to keep his mind out of the gutter it wanted to dive in. Arthur cocked an eyebrow at that, his eyes still locked with Eames'.

"Do you care?" The forger smirked lazily at the younger man's question and his grayish orbs flickered away from his colleague for only a second.

"Only a little, Pet." He spoke truthfully, his body screaming to lounge itself towards the lean line of muscle.

Arthur was a piece of art. Eames had never seen the man wearing anything but suits and those had not at all left anything to the imagination. The toned muscle was obvious in the vests and dress-pants Arthur seemed to swear by. But now… here. The point-man stood straight and tall, his skin glossy with rain traveling curls around muscles and bones. His posture wasn't any less proud in skimpy underwear than it was dressed in thousand-dollar three-piece suits and this alone made the forger nearly lose his mind.

The point-man was confident. Proud and very bloody arrogant… And this all made Eames want to make Arthur come undone even more.

Eames stopped in his tracks only a foot away from Arthur, only because the latter had placed a firm hand against his chest.

"Stay." Arthur mouthed the word, lips barely managing to hide a smirk and it took all of Eames willpower to not slap the younger man's hand away and shove him into the mud and grass underneath. But he did. By gods he did not know how, but Eames did what he was told and ignored the drunken buzz in his head as he observed a much more drunk Arthur lower his hand.

It took a long second before Eames realized that the hand which had rested against his chest only a moment ago, now slid over the point-man's wet, hairless chest.

Eames had a hard time trying to decide whether to enjoy the sight of Arthur's normally slick-back hair having come undone by the rain, or watch the long-fingered hand travel lewdly over the younger man's torso. Of course he was only human and decided on the latter.

Arthur on his turn could barely stand the sight of Eames' face. The way the Brit's eyes smoldered almost dangerously, how his lips were pressed shut so tightly that they had whitened with pressure, the way the muscles in his jaws trembled with teeth grinding and how his nostrils flared with each huffed exhale… it was too much. The point-man sighed softly, too softly to be heard over the sound of rustling leaves and gentle rain collapsing on grass and mud, and tipped his head back as eyes fluttered close.

The point-man's right palm stroked flatly over his chest before the pads of his fingers 'accidentally' brushed over his nipple. He hissed, more loud than necessary, and started to tease the erect bud slowly.

Eames watched closely, throat dry with alcohol and awakening arousal, as Arthur's left hand lightly brushed over a hipbone, traveling its way over the flat, hard tummy where a soft line of pubic hair led its way down south.

It was maddening to say the least. Arthur, dear Arthur who always was so put-together and in control. Arthur who didn't seem to have any sexual interest, a permanent stick up his arse - and not in a good way, mind you - now losing it in a drunken haze of arousal.

It only took another three minutes of Arthur hissing and sighing as his own hands pleasured himself before Eames couldn't help but slide his fingers over the craned throat, collecting the rain from his skin on his pads. Arthur jumped at the touch, probably having forgotten all about Eames' presence or just not having expected the man to touch his throat of all places on his body and he looked back up, glaring.

"Don't touch me, Mr. Eames." He warned, folding long fingers around the Brit's wrist and pulling his hand away from his throat. Eames chuckled, but Arthur didn't miss how his Adam's Apple bumped when he swallowed thickly.

"You can't be serious…" The older male murmured, more to himself than to the object of his years-long desire but Arthur continued to work his own nipples, his right hand now slipping fingertips behind the elastic of his underwear.

"When have I ever not been serious?" He threw back, cocking an eyebrow before blinking away raindrops that had escaped his brow and fallen on his lashes.

Eames didn't reply to that, instead choosing to take a deep, calming breath. A poor attempt at keeping his growing erection down.

Arthur's fingers slid deeper behind the edge of his briefs and when he cupped himself he couldn't help but dip his head, biting his lip when a groan escaped.

The thought of the forger watching his every move but not being allowed to touch him made Arthur tick. The atmosphere around them, thickened by the intimate cocoon of rain and the scent of petrichor, only did wonderful things to both men's desire. They had longed for one another many years but Arthur's professionalism and Eames puppy-love which got accompanied with deep respect for his colleague, only had put the inevitable off. Eames would've never dreamt that one day Arthur would give in - though he had fantasized about it more times he would ever be willing to count - let alone would he have ever had the hopeful thoughts of the point-man actually returning the man's feelings.

Though Eames doubted that Arthur's feelings for him were similar to his own, he still wasn't going to say no to the drunken and aroused man in front of him… Because, no matter how smashed Arthur truly was, Eames was clever enough to know that the point-man always remained some sense of self-control and would never do the things he was doing at that moment without his own consent.

It drove the forger nuts. Arthur wanted him. Had probably wanted him back in the day they had first met, even though he pretty much had snarled at him within the first five minutes of their meeting.

Eames woke from his thoughts when Arthur took a step forward and his breath got caught when the point-man dipped his head, allowing it to rest on the older male's shoulder.

The Brit tensed at the closeness of the other man searching some kind of leverage to jerk himself off without tipping over. Eames tensed even more because the physical closeness allowed him to take in every little sigh and intake of breath coming from Arthur, his hot breath fanned through the wetness of Eames' shirt as he had nuzzled his nose underneath the collar of the vintage jacket he was wearing.

Eames tried to dip his chin, tried to look in between their bodies which weren't touching just yet, but it was too dark, the pale moon only allowing that much light. He didn't care much though as the sounds Arthur made were truly a pleasurably kick to his groin.

Arthur wasn't 'noisy'. He barely made a sound even when he got injured in dreams and to hear him raise his voice in anger or worry had only happened a couple of times in those many years of working together. So hearing him mewl almost pathetically as his own hand worked himself, feeling his body tremble through the head that rested on his shoulder and the sensation of his hot breath biting through the soaked fabric of his shirt made Eames pray for any self-control he had left to keep him from losing it altogether and shoving Arthur against the tree that stood about ten feet behind them.

"Fuck." The little curse had barely broken through the curtain of rain around them but nonetheless Eames' ears had caught it loud and clear. Arthur didn't curse… normally. Only in anger or annoyance… never in… Not like this.

The forger took a shuddering breath and tightened his fists from keeping his hands roaming down the pale, wet skin of the sculpture-ish body that belonged to Arthur.

The point-man shivered - not because of the cold - and his left hand grabbed a fistful of Eames' jacket, holding on as his hips bucked. Eames felt more so than saw how Arthur pulled down his underwear to his thighs before his hand wrapped around the freed erection.

"Arthur…" Eames murmured the name as if he was in pain, which he was, his own swollen arousal pressing painfully against his soaked trousers.

The point-man ignored the plea and continued to jack himself of in a rapid pace. The alcohol hadn't at all buzzed the need to release and all he wanted at that moment was to come, come undone all over Eames' disgusting trousers and shirt and jacket and shoes and tie and ugh, his face.

Arthur's hand tightened around his rock-hard erection, the skin velvety and the rain making the friction a bit more harsh. The water didn't lubricate but more so seemed to sting the tender skin.

"Arthur-" Eames repeated his name, this times his lips pressed against the point-man's right ear and the latter barely managed not to moan at the sound of the British man's voice purring his name.

"Are you gonna come?" Eames murmured, a smile sounded through his words but his voice wavered too much to allow Arthur to believe he was left unaffected by the show he was putting on.

"Y-yeah." The younger man answered truthfully, feeling the knot of pleasure pulling more tightly in his core, desperate to explode. His knees wobbled and he tightened his fist around the fabric of Eames' jacket.

"I don't want you to come like this." Eames whispered against the shell of his ear, his breath tickling the skin, making Arthur shiver pleasantly. The sensation went straight down south and he moaned only a second after.

"I do." Arthur growled, his hand increasing pace and pressure, feeling arousal prickle on his scalp all the way down to the tips of his toes.

Eames reached out a hand towards Arthur's wrist and the latter abruptly stopped moving.

"If you dare touch me, Eames, I swear I will take you down." Eames paused, his eyes lazily roaming over the head on his shoulder, the soaked pitch-black hair curling in the nape of the younger man's pale neck.

"Are you now?" He chuckled, trying to read how serious Arthur truly was.

"Remember I am always serious. Unlike you, I do not lie." Arthur growled, still not looking up, but the muscles in his shoulders bulged as his body tensed up, getting ready for a possible struggle or fight.

Though Eames enjoyed their animosity, their bickering and even the occasional rivalry… He still knew they were allies, they were friends to some degree and they wanted each other more than each of them had ever allowed to be known to themselves and to one another.

"I'm sure you don't, Pet." The forger smiled, nuzzling his nose behind Arthur's ear, just to annoy him. Eames' left hand then continued forward, fingers wide, ready to take a hold of Arthur's wrist.

"I will take you down… I'm not drunk enough to not be able to take you down." Eames was only a little baffled at how Arthur could go from whorish specimen putting up a masturbation show to angry professional - yet naked - point-man ready to punch him in the face if he dared to touch him.

And that was it.

That was what Eames adored about Arthur. The man was angry, difficult, unable to read. He was an enigma… A very agitated enigma. Like a ticking present Eames couldn't wait to unwrap even though he knew there'd be a bomb inside.

"It's worth a shot, yeah?"

* * *

After a five minute wrestling session it surprisingly was Arthur who ended up being mounted by Eames. Though the forger did have a bloody nose, he hadn't lost his smirk and he made sure to squeeze his fingers a bit too tightly around Arthur's wrists which were pinned above his head on the muddy grass.

"Let me go." Arthur hissed, his frown doing sinful things to his handsome face and Eames took a moment to adore the various lines that the point-man's scowl drew on his forehead.

"Arthur, Pet, I'm baffled that you allowed me to take you down." Eames teased, sitting heavily on Arthur's lower belly. The rain felt heavy on both their bodies but the weather was still sticky hot and neither of them suffered from chills just yet.

"I didn't allow you anything."

"But you said you'd be the one taking me down, yeah?" Eames quirked an eyebrow, curious and already amused about Arthur's future answer.

"I'm too drunk."

"So you lied?"

"Not consciously. Now get off of me." Arthur struggled a bit but huffed and settled back down on the grass underneath when he knew that battling Eames would just suck more energy out of him.

Their eyes remained locked, though Eames' were squinted in a smile and Arthur's were wide open in that mind-blowing glare only he could pull off.

"You're bloody gorgeous." Eames all but sighed as his sight wavered over the point-man's tensed face. Every line and nook was remembered so clearly in the Brit's mind yet every time he saw Arthur in front of him, the man's beauty never failed to astound him and take his breath away.

Eames knew he had it bad… He just wasn't ready to admit that yet, not to himself nor to Arthur.

"I know, now get off." Arthur frowned irritably as his body started to shift in the mud and grass, trying and failing to get the forger's heavy weight off of him.

"You know?!" Eames sputtered in amusement by the point-man's cocky self-esteem, though he didn't loosen the grip he had on his narrow wrists.

"I think you have no clue of how gorgeous you really are, Darling." Eames pushed, trying to believe that the blush on the man's cheeks was only caused by Eames himself, and not by the alcohol overheating his skin.

Arthur's frown softened, his jaw set, but after a couple of seconds he turned his head sideways and huffed in defeat.

As Eames leaned a bit more forward he could see thinned blood dripping on Arthur's cheek. The forger's nose was still bleeding because of the very well-aimed punch Arthur had thrown at him in the wrestling-session, but the rain washed it away before it had a chance to stain either's skin.

Carefully, the older man let his lips brush over Arthur's left cheek, enjoying yet hating how the point-man's body tensed up at the physical contact.

He allowed his lips to travel lower, nipping at Arthur's jawbone before dipping in the hollow of his chin. Arthur craned his neck at the touch, but didn't make a sound.

"Your skin feels feverishly hot." Eames pointed out, not at all missing the shudder that shook Arthur's body when his hot breath had fanned over the wet skin of the American's throat.

"Alcohol." The point-man lied.

"Stick poking my arse alcohol too, hm?" Eames teased, seating himself a bit lower and reveling in the sensation of Arthur's very present erection poking him just above his ass.

"You and I both damn well know the truth to that. Now quit playing games, Mr. Eames."

"Hmm, Arthur…" Eames nearly growled his name before sinking sharp teeth into the man's throat. To say he was pleasantly surprised with how the point-man's body arched from the muddy surface into his touch would be an understatement. Yet Eames was very unpleasantly surprised when gravity seemed to swap his body around before his back got shoved into the ground and he blinked in confusion as he eyed Arthur sitting on top of him.

It had happened in a matter of seconds.

"Arthur! You sneaky little-" His sentence deformed into a pleased groan when the man on top of him smashed their lips together, teeth clacking.

It wasn't how Eames had imagined their first kiss to be. He had fantasized about it many times, and every time it had been careful, sensual and a tad intense… Perhaps in a hotel-room, more willingly back at one of Eames' apartments, preferably one here in Mombasa because the hot weather would surely agitate the man for sweating in one of his thousand-dollar suits.

Arthur on his turn had fantasized on very rare occasions about their first kiss… and it pretty much was like now, but not as naked nor underneath the starry sky in lukewarm rain.

The point-man did enjoy shutting the arrogant forger up. He enjoyed more so having taken him by surprise and with a pleased little huff he sunk teeth into Eames' plump lower-lip.

The older man took a shuddering gasp at the ministration before he brought up his arms and grabbed the leaner male's hips. The fact that Arthur allowed this all but drove Eames mad.

Eames slid his tongue into the hot cavern of Arthur's mouth and they both groaned over the sound of rain when the muscles started to dance around another.

As they deepened the kiss to a filthy and slick fight for dominance, Arthur's hands squeezed Eames' well-built shoulders, digging nails into his traps.

Eames could throw him off, very easily so. But instead he decided to rock Arthur's hips with his hands, making the point-man's ass rub circles over Eames' trapped crotch.

Their breathing grew heavy in no time and before either of them realized, Eames hadn't had to move Arthur's hips any longer because the point-man found great pleasure in grinding his ass over Eames' trapped erection whilst lewdly gasping into the Brit's mouth as they kissed hungrily.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted you." Eames whispered when they pulled back for air, rain clogging their nostrils and stinging their eyes.

"I have some idea." Arthur answered before diving back in, lips all but devouring Eames' mouth. It was about time the forger put some use to the plumpest lips Arthur had ever seen on a man, let alone female.

Eames let his hands roam over the younger man's back - which was covered in a thick layer of mud that the rain barely not managed to wash away - enjoying the bumps of his spine before flattening his right hand between Arthur's shoulder blades and pulling him closer against his still dressed body.

"Why now, huh?" Eames asked, taking a handful of Arthur's hair to pull his head aside so he could have a taste of his exposed throat.

"What's so different about now, hm?" The forger sunk teeth into the vein he found in Arthur's neck and a jolt of pleasure made his dick twitch at the sound of his colleague gasping.

Their bodies only grinded closer, more sloppily and far more harshly.

"You called me a stick-in-the-mud one too many times." The point-man answered breathily, voice wavering as Eames put his mouth to good use on the man's sensitive throat.

"That's it then?" He asked, licking rain from the pale skin above him, still tasting Arthur through the tangy flavor of blood that had traveled from his nose into the back of his mouth.

"That's part of it." The American answered thoughtfully before burying his face in the crook of Eames' neck.

"What's the other part then? Alcohol?" Arthur just hummed, not really caring for the conversation and instead choosing to flatten his body onto Eames before grinding his own naked erection against the forger's clothed tummy. It seemed to distract Eames… for a little while.

"Nah, must be something else, yeah?" Eames began, hands stroking long, lazy swipes over the point-man's back before squeezing Arthur's cheeks tightly. Arthur moaned and dug his arousal farther into Eames' belly.

"Puppy-love feelings must be returned?" Eames teased, but the younger man heard the slightly fearful tone in the man's voice.

"Shut up, Mr. Eames. There's plenty of other things you can use that mouth for." Eames just chuckled at that, taking Arthur's avoidance of replying directly as a confirmative 'yes Eames, I do return your puppy-love feelings' and with that fantasy in mind he grabbed the younger man's wrists and rolled them back around. Arthur yelped at the sudden movement and he blinked furiously when finding himself once again on his back in the mud with a smirking Eames on top of him.

"I'll take that as a yes." Eames murmured, kissing Arthur before the latter could throw back an insult.

The kiss this time was even more hurried and clumsy and when their teeth clacked for the third time, Arthur had had enough of it. The point-man growled in annoyance and started to tug at Eames' jacket.

Luckily enough, the forger got the hint and started to pull off the garment, tugging so harshly that they both swore they heard something rip.

"You want me to fuck you right here, hm?" Eames almost growled the words and he started to undo the golden buttons of his shirt, Arthur helped, long fingers making short notice of the paisley dress-shirt.

"Right here. Pound you through the ground, yeah?" Arthur just moaned, enjoying how Eames was rambling because the man had finally lost what little self-control he initially had had.

Eames leaned back, tugging almost angrily at his tie before he stumbled onto his feet. Arthur instinctively wanted to get up as well but his throat ran dry when Eames placed a gentle foot on top of his chest.

"Ah-ah, stay... That a boy." The point-man distractedly let his fingers stroke the leather of Eames' shoe and couldn't care less about the mud that hung on its sole.

Eames quickly got rid of the clothes on his upper body before he started to unbuckle his belt - which after close inspection earlier that night, Arthur had come to believe was more expensive than the forger's whole ensemble -.

The way the man stood, towering over Arthur, one leg bent as its foot rested a bit heavily on the younger man's chest. The way Eames' traps and biceps bulged with the simple movements of undoing his belt, before sliding it through the loops… it made Arthur wallow in self-pity for not having given in much earlier than tonight.

"Undo the laces, will ya?" Eames spoke matter-of-factly as his fingers played with the belt.

"You've got to be kidding me, right?" Arthur glared, fingers twitching in desire for grabbing Eames' ankle and flipping it to make him trip.

"I am never kidding when it comes to you, Darling." Eames quirked an eyebrow and did the lop-sided smirk of which he knew truly grinded Arthur's gears.

"You are ALWAYS kidding when it comes to me." The point-man growled back, loud to make his voice break through the rain which had eased down to a gentle drizzle.

"Arthur, you wound me, truly. Have a little faith." Eames mocked, slapping a large hand on his own chest, atop his heart whilst letting his jaw drop in false shock.

But after another second of shooting daggers through eyes, Arthur began untying the thin laces of Eames' Italian dress-shoes. When the point-man came to pulling off the shoe, with Eames watching him wolfishly, he couldn't help but curl up his nose at the sight of orange-red paisley socks.

"Honestly." He muttered to himself as he pulled off the sock, scowling when Eames wiggled his toes in front of his face before thankfully undoing his other shoe himself.

"Truly fascinating how you're still hard, no?" Eames deadpanned as he pulled down his trousers, discarding them on the muddy grass.

Arthur decided to let the arrogant remark slip by and instead chose to jerk himself off in an angry pace.

Eames took a step back, indulging on the sight of a naked Arthur - skin pale and glossy with rain and moonlight - sprawled onto the grass, at his feet. He enjoyed and grew hungry because of the younger man's lean muscles tensing and rolling with every move of his hand and hips. The way Arthur threw his head back, eyes closed and brow pinched, his mouth agape to take sharp yet shallow intakes of breaths… it made Eames waver at the spot. He felt ready to pass out or brutally take what should've been his' years ago.

"Better hurry up…" Arthur managed to gasp as his heels dug into the mud whilst his hips rose from the ground. His body was one beautiful contorted line of true craftsmanship and it made Eames mouth water.

The forger pulled down his underwear, stepping out of them and flinging the fabric aside before walking forwards to the gorgeous male lying submissively on the ground. His body open and ready for him to take. For him to feast upon.

Eames licked his lips.

"Turn around." Arthur paused in his movements before his top-row of teeth sunk sharply into his bottom-lip. But he did exactly what he was told and it made Eames' erection throb harshly.

"Chest flat, ass up." The forger clarified, all sense of humor and playfulness long gone. Eames hummed and had to take a couple of deep breaths to calm his heartbeat when Arthur lied flat on his chest and shoulders, his ass sticking up high and legs spread out without it having needed to be said.

Eames dropped to his knees behind Arthur and he waited, just sitting there and possessively drinking in every inch of Arthur's body splayed out for him.

Eames waited minutes long, watching the rain slowly wash away the mud from the American's back and ass. The soft rain only deafened every other second with the sound of a panting Arthur, before the latter finally budged.

"For fuck's sake Eames, touch me." His head peeked over his shoulder and his eyes seemed even darker than they had been minutes ago. The night wasn't the only one to blame for that.

Eames swallowed and nodded, not quite believing he was finally allowed to touch that glorious ass. Those cheeks which had never left anything to the imagination in the tight tailored trousers Arthur swore by… But truth being told, imagination could've never come close to the real deal.

Arthur's eyes fluttered close and he moaned when Eames let his palm slide over the younger man's lower-back.

The point-man buried his face back into the crooks of his elbows and reveled in the sensation of Eames' rough-skinned hands traveling over every inch of skin.

The Brit smiled absently at the dimples in Arthur's back before he brought up his other hand. He parted the man's cheeks and groaned when seeing raindrops travel over the puckered hole he found there.

"Arthur, I-"

"Shut up, Eames." The forger wasn't even sure what he had wanted to say. The beauty of the point-man was just overwhelming and the thought of that he was now allowed to touch and taste every patch of the man's body made his heart do hurtful back-flips.

But he did shut up and instead leaned forwards towards the man and buried his nose and mouth between wet, warm cheeks. He groaned at the scent that was so Arthur. The scent he had occasionally had had a sniff off when passing him by in a hallway or having awkwardly accompanied him in an elevator, but here the smell was a dozen times more intense.

Eames was also pleasantly surprised at noting the absolute lack of hair on Arthur's body except for the soft line on his tummy and the patch above his cock. And besides his legs he had made a good job of shaving himself so smoothly it made Eames mentally sob.

He took another deep sniff, enjoying how Arthur's body fought against tensing and twitching, before placing the flat of his tongue against the younger man's hole.

Arthur gasped and jumped only slightly, but Eames made sure to grab a firm hold of the man's hips and keep him in place.

Eames long thumbs kept Arthur's cheeks spread whilst the rest of his fingers curled hurtfully around the American's narrow hipbones.

The forger lapped his hot tongue over the tight ring of muscle and felt it twitch with each stroke. Arthur moaned softly when Eames circled his hole with the tip of his muscle and when he finally did press inside, Arthur's knees wobbled. His body would've given in if it weren't for Eames having cradled an arm around his tummy.

The forger lapped once more before again digging his tongue inside gently. Arthur was hot inside, hot and already moist because of Eames' saliva and the latter didn't dare imagine how the ring of muscle would feel around his cock for he didn't want to prematurely spill outside of the man's body.

He curled his tongue, swiping and circling, gently stretching Arthur's body before allowing an index finger to tease and prod along.

Arthur sighed and mewled, his hips starting to rock back onto Eames' tongue and his body shivered when he could feel the pad of a finger gently join entrance with the slick muscle.

"Fuck…" The point-man cursed, lungs heaving shallowly as a long finger entered him, and his whole body trembled at the pleasurable feeling.

It had been too long, far too long, years even. Arthur knew he'd never be able to last long. Not with Eames' arm wrapped around his tummy so low that Arthur's cock bumped into it with each movement. He would not last long with the thought of Eames taking him, of it being the forger, his guilty pleasure and source of agitation… The man he had very secretly longed for ever since they'd first met.

Not to mention he was still so fucking drunk.

"God, hurry up, Eames." He growled, though his voice came out more desperately than he had wanted to. But at this moment he didn't much care and knew that Eames was too far gone to even joke about him practically having begged Eames to give him more.

There was no room for bickering or condescending or any specificity.

Eames pulled back a bit, arm unwrapping from Arthur's waist and instead choosing to place the flat of his palm between the man's shoulder blades. Arthur groaned at the pressure, his nose almost dipping into the mud underneath if it weren't for the arms on which he rested his forehead. The scent of petrichor was thick, the sound of rain though was barely audible through the buzzing of rushing blood.

"Wider." Eames hoarsed and Arthur spread his legs further, his back contorted uncomfortably but his arousal demanded for him to listen. Said arousal had been right, because not a second after he could feel Eames slide two fingers into him. The sting buzzed away quickly by alcohol and desire.

Arthur cursed once again and folded hands into fists, his nails digging into his own palms as he bit his lip to keep himself from making even more embarrassing sounds than he'd made earlier that night.

But when Eames crooked his fingers after having slid in and out a couple of times, knuckles brushing deep against that spot that made Arthur's body go limp… The point-man couldn't help but let out a long wail.

"That's right. Right there, ain't it?" Eames whispered hoarsely, voice lost in absolute arousal. Arthur just nodded, hoping that Eames saw and judging from how the man repeated the movement, he had.

Arthur wailed once more when Eames pulled his fingers out until only the tips were buried inside of him. Neither of them moved and after only a couple of seconds Arthur understood.

The point-man pressed back, his hole hungrily taking in the forger's thick fingers as he rocked back onto them.

"Good boy, Arthur." Eames hissed, the hand on Arthur's shoulders losing its pressure and instead traveling up to squeeze the nape of the man's neck.

"Such a good boy…" He repeated as if in a trance, shifting his weight on the hand that held Arthur's neck, making the latter's body curve even more awkwardly. Arthur's body didn't even register the pain, only the knuckles which brushed continuously against his prostate seemed to be present.

Arthur continued to rock his body on Eames' fingers, allowing the forger to enjoy the show of a uncharacteristically needy Arthur.

The point-man gasped when suddenly three fingers entered him as he shoved himself back onto the man's hand and he paused for a moment, hissing at the intrusive pain.

"Shhh." Eames soothed as he leaned back, his hand releasing Arthur's neck and instead rubbing soft circles on his lower back.

Arthur trembled, taking deep breaths, allowing the pain to ease. Eames turned his hand slowly, finger pads pointing upwards and he then gently rubbed the pleasurable knob inside of Arthur's body.

"Jesus…" Eames smiled at the curse that slipped from Arthur's lips, absolutely indulging on having the stuck-up American losing control so easily… because of him. Because of only three of his fingers and he couldn't imagine what his dick would do to the younger man's self-control.

He'd bound to find out.

"Would you like more?" Eames whispered as he leaned a bit forward, body hovering over Arthur's. The point-man nodded distractedly, hips rocking back on Eames' fingers which were still buried completely inside of him.

"Hm?" He urged on, wanting - needing to hear him say it out loud.

"Yes, for god's sake. Yes I'd like more." Arthur growled, glaring over his shoulder. Eames smiled at the disheveled look on his colleague's face and slowly pulled his fingers out of the hot muscled cavern.

"Couldn't deny you anything even if I'd want to." Eames spoke matter-of-factly as he leaned back and placed his left hand on Arthur's hip. The point-man just cursed an insult before dipping his head back on his forearms. Eames enjoyed thoroughly how Arthur's hands took fistfuls of soaked grass, fingertips digging deep into the dirt.

The forger then spit into his right hand and moaned as he jerked himself off slowly, lubricating his erection with his own saliva. He made sure to take his time, even though he felt as if he could explode at any moment, just because he then could indulge on the sight of a very flustered and frustrated Arthur.

The point-man's body still rocked slightly, seemingly fucking himself onto air, unknowingly craving friction.

They were both grateful for their profession demanding of them to always be clean and thus the need for a condom was irrelevant.

Eames shifted a bit closer when he felt his cock had been lubricated enough, and the hand around Arthur's hip tightened. The point-man tensed, body freezing every movement and Eames was certain he saw him hold his breath when he positioned the tip of his erection against Arthur's stretched hole.

He waited for another second before finally leaning forward and starting to press inside the tight ring of muscle.

Arthur truly whined as Eames slowly slid his cock inside of him and Eames himself had to bite his lip from keeping himself shoving inside the man's body in one swift motion. The last thing he wanted was to hurt Arthur.

It took about five long seconds before Eames was buried to the hilt inside of Arthur's ridiculously tight and hot hole and they both panted heavily as their bodies adjusted to one another.

"God, Arthur…" Eames squeezed his eyes shut, afraid the sight of the American's trembling body would make him come undone within the second.

But Arthur had other ideas because he pulled forward slightly, then rocked back again. Eames opened his eyes and removed his hand from the man's hip, instead placing both of them on his own lower back, tilting his hips a bit forward.

He watched, transfixed and in awe as Arthur fucked himself gently on his cock. It was almost too dark to see where his cock connected into Arthur's hole, but the rain made their skin glossy and Eames could still see the slickness of his own erection disappearing into the point-man's body.

Arthur breathed softly, but a soft grunt fell from his lips each time he screwed himself down Eames' cock, ass-cheeks slapping against the forger's pelvis.

Eames could already feel his own arousal thicken, orgasm building heavily in his core and thus, after Arthur had increased the pace and proven to Eames the pain had subsided, he took a hold of Arthur's hips and slammed home.

"Oh!" Arthur shouted, quickly scrambling onto hands and knees, head dipped and shoulders tensing. Eames growled at the sight of Arthur's body, the muscles and bones very visible with the moon's soft light casting shadows in every nook and bump.

"A-again." Arthur panted, looking over his shoulder towards the forger.

"Again?" Eames smirked sarcastically, quirking an eyebrow. Though he didn't laugh for long because Arthur did a sinful thing with his inner-muscles, tightening them so much that they grasped Eames' cock almost painfully.

Eames shivered and pulled out slowly, leaving the tip inside of the point-man before once again slamming inside so hard that the slap of ass against pelvis, accompanied with the slickness of the rain, truly echoed around the atmosphere.

They completely lost rhythm after that. Eames dug fingernails into the younger man's hips, bruising him not only with half-moon shaped cuts but as well with the pressure of strong finger-pads.

Arthur dug fingers into the dirt ground beneath but they kept losing leverage because of the slick muddy surface and after another harsh pound Arthur's body gave out and it flattened onto the cold ground.

"Just like that." Eames growled hungrily, grabbing the back of Arthur's neck with his left hand as his right one pressed harshly into the small of the point-man's back, making his body arch and his ass stick up a bit more.

Eames dug his toes into the mud as deep as he could and continued to fuck Arthur into the grass. The point-man groaned as if in pain but soon enough the sounds wavered into small mewls and then into filthily loud moaning of Eames' name.

Having Arthur say the forger's name in such a tone of voice was truly the best gift Eames could've ever gotten.

Arthur hissed as his own cock shoved against the ground beneath with each time Eames slid his cock inside. In the back of his mind, the point-man was worried about some serious infections the soil could cause on his dick, but the friction was too good to care.

The sensation of Eames filling him, splitting him in half, and then the slick lukewarm mud trapping his cock against his tummy and basically having him jerked off was too much to handle.

The point-man moaned desperately, trying to get a hand in between himself and the ground, but Eames' body trapped him. Eames pressed heavily on his neck and back, nearly burying him into the dirt and he couldn't do anything but plead for the man to fuck him harder.

"Eames, god, harder. Fuck me harder!" Arthur all but sobbed as he felt the man increase his pace, his cock shoving so deep that Arthur had no doubt he'd be having difficulties taking seats for the next couple of days. The way the forger's voice cracked with each exhale, as he panted somewhere above his head, was enough to make Arthur tick.

"Bloody hell, Arthur… you're such a good boy for me…" The sentence would've made Arthur laugh or at least sputter in any normal situation. But now, in the current setting. In the cocoon of rain, being filled with Eames' thick heath. Knowing that Eames' voice had wavered and cracked as if he was about to cry because he was having the one thing he had wanted all his life… The desperation and animalistic desire… That was it.

Arthur's orgasm hit him out of nowhere. He came with a shout that deformed into a high-pitched whine that lasted for seconds. The bolts of pleasure were on the edge of painful as they rammed themselves through the tips of Arthur's toes, up to his scalp and then all spiraled back south, hitting his cock with such force that his seed literally shot out of him in large swipes of white climax.

Eames felt Arthur's orgasm even before the point-man had. The American's body had tightened painfully around his own arousal, as if the muscle was desperate to milk Eames dry.

And the sight of Arthur's body tensing, muscles bulging and hands burying themselves in the slick mud, desperate to find something to hold on to as his orgasm rocked him from this world… that had been it for Eames.

Eames came harder than he had ever come. His breath got knocked out of him as he buried himself to the hilt inside of the impossibly tight, hot cavern that was Arthur. The waves of pleasure nearly drowned him as they all collided in his core, shoving themselves through Eames' erection until spurts of seed finally found their way out and deep inside the point-man's body.

Eames gasped desperately, his head buzzing with the force of his orgasm, before he finally collapsed on top of the younger man underneath him.

As if on cue, the rain slowed down until not a single drop fell from the sky. As if the atmosphere wanted to enjoy the sight of the two naked men lying on the grass, panting, skin filthy with mud and dirt.

After a couple of minutes Arthur groaned and Eames took the hint as he rolled himself from the point-man's lean body. They both slightly winced as Eames' softened cock slipped out of Arthur's hole.

The forger lied on his back and let his head tip sideways so he could observe the point-man who was still panting as he rested on his tummy.

"Hey…" Eames spoke, playfully shoving Arthur against the shoulder.

Arthur groaned shortly before turning his head the other way. It was odd to have their eyes connect once again. It would never be the same anymore. They'd always be reminded of that night whenever looking each other in the eyes… Strange… but neither of them found it an unpleasant thought.

"What?" Arthur smiled… An honest all-dimple smile. Thought it only lasted for a second, it still had been genuine and Eames couldn't help but grin his crooked teeth at the point-man. Relieved that this hadn't been a bad choice. Arthur's dimpled smile had never been aimed towards Eames before… in all those years Eames had had to watch Arthur smile his rare smiles to others, with the forger on the side, spiraling in jealousy and self-pity.

But this time it had been for him.

"You still got your stick in the mud." Eames deadpanned and Arthur stared for a couple of seconds before he grasped the true meaning of Eames' teasing words.

"Shut the hell up, Mr. Eames." He growled, though the wrinkles around his eyes showed his amusement and Eames couldn't help but yank the younger man into a muddy embrace.

* * *

"Where the hell have you guys been?" Dom scowled at Arthur and Eames who walked into the warehouse looking their proper selves.

"What do you mean?" Eames asked innocently, beginning to take off his jacket as he eyed the pile of papers on his desk.

"You guys disappeared last night."

"Oh that." Eames smirked slightly, his eyes wavering shortly to the point-man who acted as if he wasn't following the conversation whilst lowering his shoulder bag onto his chair.

"We had some fun." The forger vaguely stated before plumping down on his desk-chair, ignoring the loud creaking of the furniture.

"Fun? With Arthur? Fun with Arthur?" Dom raised a brow at that, a smile playing around his lips as he all well knew about Arthur's very professional and no-fun personality.

"Oh yeah." Eames began.

"Eames…" Arthur warned from across the room, glaring daggers at the forger who on his turn raised his hands innocently.

"Well, Arthur's still got a stick up his arse, or in the mud, or however the saying goes." Eames smiled broadly as he heard Arthur sputter and choke on his coffee across the room.

Dom just shrugged and turned away and when Eames eyes roamed back to the point-man he knew what true emotions lied behind that glare of his.

He smiled.

And it earned him at least one dimple from Arthur.

**END.**

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